


8 Crazy Nights

by mala_ptica



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, dadneto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:27:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mala_ptica/pseuds/mala_ptica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a little trove of drabbles I wrote for the Magnus family at Hanukkah</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1st Night

"Don’t stand so close, you’ll burn yourself!"

A hand pushed her back from the menorah, freshly lit. Lorna’s cheeks burned, and she tried not to look at the expressions on Wanda and Pietro’s faces. Smug, she was sure. It was her first night of Hanukkah, ever, and her first night of custody at her father’s house, with his two other children, teenagers – much older than her. Her mother had dropped her off in the middle of the day, told her to be good, and that she’d pick her up in time for Christmas. She’d never felt so alone.

"I wasn’t that close," she mumbled, "And I’m not dumb. I’m a candle lighter at church.”

“I’m sure you’re very good,” her father – father, it still felt weird to think of him as that – said, bending down over her, and tucking her hair into place behind her ears, so nothing stuck out of the braid. He had been preoccupied with her hair all evening, and it made her self-conscious, wondering what he thought of the green. The action made her sort of want to cry. “But you must be careful, my dear,” he said, peering at her, eye level, “Fire catches quick, and I only have one of you.”


	2. 2nd Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya is kind

Anya is kind. She remembers that when people talk about her extended family in the news, about her father’s (alleged) crimes, his human daughter, wanted as well, and the twins, saved from further association by the change in their name.

Herself, she gets by on the anonymity as well, but despite letters from her parents – mom, Arnold, dad and Magda, all – to stay away from the protests, the activism, to stay in school and get her degree first, she is energized. It’s hard to watch news footage of a riot and know that your sister or brother or father might be there, might be an instigator, or might be a target.

And when the journalist and politician put Anya on a watchlist as a dangerous criminal, the first of Erik’s children to be so, she remembers the girl who held her hand and showed her how to light the menorah correctly, who smiled when she tried to sing the blessing for the first time, and hadn’t made fun of the little nervous goyim girl, being introduced to her father and his other family for the first time.

It was Anya who first welcomed her, Anya who stood up for her over the years, and Anya whom she will follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these were originally posted on my journal. thanks to experimentalmadness for her interpretation of Anya, had she lived


	3. 3rd Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is a darling who tries a little bit too hard. Erik struggles not to be charmed. Pure fluff. Teeth rotting.

"Erik we’re celebrating Hanukkah this year I don’t care if you don’t want to."

Erik stopped in his tracks, cookie halfway in mouth, and looked at Charles as though he’d grown two heads.

"Mmmrgph?"

"And I’m a mind-reader so feigning ignorance won’t work on me, and-"

Erik spat out the cookie. “Charles you idiot, what makes you think I don’t want to celebrate?”

The glow blooming over Charles’s features told him enough.

"You just tricked me into admitting I want to celebrate, didn’t you," Erik finished dryly.

"Yes but that’s only because you know I would never read your mind without your permission, one, and two, it means so much more when you say it," Charles declared, snuggling up against Erik on the couch.

"It’s not really a big party thing, you know, I’m the only Jew in the house anyway, I don’t know why you’re so excited-" Erik began, but was derailed by Charles kissing his cheek, and clapping his hands together.

"It will be so much fun!" Charles declared, "I’ve gone and ordered about a dozen different menorahs!"

"Wait but why-" This was happening too fast.

"Oh, so everyone in the house can light their own!" Charles was unstoppable.

"No-" Erik felt his eyes slide backwards into his head, and covered his face with his hands.

"Yes. What’s the appropriate plural on menorah anyway? Menorae?"

"You’re banned for life. From everything."

"Ooooh, and we can have latkes…I don’t know how to cook because I’ve never had to but I can learn…"

"Stop."

"Darling, this will be the best Hanukkah ever! You won’t forget it!"

With one part of that statement, at least, Erik would agree. It was his fault, anyway, he thought not unhappily, if Charles was beginning to feel dangerously like home.


	4. 4th Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magda and Erik as a young, hopeful family, after the Liberation

When Magda is in her seventh month, and morning sickness is more of all the day sickness, Max would rush home from his days of work. He paused only to buy milk, if he could afford it, and pick mint from their neighbors’ garden, for Magda to chew. He would build a fire, draw her a bath, and rub her feet while she told him about her day, scrubbing floors at the inn - work neither of them are happy about, but grateful for, nonetheless. It was a hard time, but the happiest they had been in a very long time. The winds were hard and snow stuck to the ground like sugar on a cake.

When the holidays came round, neither could afford much, so they made each other gifts, swearing to the other not to waste any precious funds on each other that they could save for the baby. Max crafts a necklace for his wife, using his power in secret to help smooth the links in the chain, bind and wind them into lace-like knots. Magda breaks the agreement in a moment of weakness, and trades a scarf and some gold buttons for a brass menorah that looks like it’s taken a beating, and possibly been in a trash-heap. That’s the least upsetting option, if she’s honest with herself. There’s a reddish stain on part of it, that she hopes is rust or wax, but rubbing won’t take out. The lions holding up the candle-holders are worn, their features smoothed out and faded from years of handling and use.

Max will be furious with her. Maybe. But he needs to have this, more than he will admit, and that’s the end of it.

They exchange presents sitting down before the fireplace, marveling in the luxury. The necklace is beautiful, and she tells him he should be a jeweler. He sees the menorah, and the result is mixed, as expected. He does yell at her, a bit, in Yiddish, and she pouts and snatches it back, taunting that if he doesn’t want it, she’ll throw it out, and he yelps and reaches for it, but is blocked by her belly.

She knows he’s pleased, even if he feels too guilty to admit it. She mentions the dents, shy, and he rubs his hands over it and asks “what dents?” and she blinks, not seeing them, wondering how she’d devalued it so much before. They tease each other like children, fumbling around to find candles small enough to fit into the candle holders - of course, she forgot something. The end result is a grand mess, and she thinks for a moment she wants to cry - and then that she wants chocolate, but that they can’t afford chocolate and then it’s crying again. He laughs and kisses her head, and tells her it doesn’t matter about the candles, because and she says Max, if you tell me family is the true meaning of the season I’m never sleeping with you again.

So he kisses her head again and is very silent the rest of the night, and there’s that.

But when they get the candles to light, and set up the menorah in the window on display, despite what people passing by may think, it’s the happiest he’s been in a very long time.


	5. 5th Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, where the children were raised together, Wanda comes home from school and meets her sister while fumbling over matches in the dark

"If I were a set of candles, where would I be?" Wanda mused to herself, tip toeing around the kitchen. The candles, alas, did not answer. She fished around in the freezer - why oh why did her mother think this was a good place to store candles - until her hand hit a plastic bag with some promising, lumpy, candle-shaped contents. With a shriek of triumph, she withdrew the bag, finding a mish mash of half-burnt candles - waste not, want not - thin Hanukkah candles in multiple colors, blues and pinks and oranges, mixed in with seven or eight straw-like polka dotted birthday candles, and a prominent number "16", speckled with gold glitter. She sorted them out on the counter, until she counted out six pink and yellow candle stubs of varying sizes, with only a few breaks in between. Her father would be horrified.

Dad’s not home to see, she thought, it’ll be fine.

Biting her lip and squinting seemed to help with the whole fitting the candles into the place holders on the menorah, and shoving them down and twisting on occasion, to make them go. The candle on her far right drooped suspiciously over the candle next to it, frowning at her work.

She picked up her set of matches, ran to turn off the electric lights, then navigated her way back to the counter with the menorah on it. She always loved this part, the moment when the first whisper of flame lit up the dark.

"Baruch ata Adonai, uhm uhm Shel Hanukkah...” she muttered, striking the match against the box. A blue-white fuzz erupted around the match, and nothing happened. A second strike. Nada. She struck until the tip of the match came off.

A few choice words in Yiddish followed, then one or two her mother had taught her.

She tried another match. Same result. Another, and another, and really, this was ridiculous. A new matchbox and huzzah! Let there be light.

"Hello! Anyone home?" Her sister’s voice rang out through the house, warm and joyful. Wanda must not have heard her come in. "What happened to the lights?"

"I’m in the kitchen, Anya! Trying to do candles - don’t turn on the lights, you’ll ruin it!"

"Oy, really? I’ll be there in a second - don’t wait for me!"

Wanda lit the shamush without trouble, lifting it from its exalted heights and tipping it to the other candles below. One, two, three, four, five glowing lights…and now, just to put the shamush back in its place on top. She moved her hand…

"…you’ll never guess how adorable this little card Lorna sent me is," Anya’s footsteps signaled she’d just come in the room, but Wanda kept on her task. "Can you believe how she spelled Hanukkah? H-O-N-I-K-A."

The flames from the two candles on the far right intersected, and grew up together. Right as she passed her hand over to replace the shamush, a draft of air caught the flames, shooting them upwards, into her skin.

"Shit!"

"Shit is right, wait - what’s wrong?"

Wanda dropped the shamush candle. “Aah, the candles are attacking me!”

"What the- you dolt, you don’t drop the candle!" Anya smacked her lightly upside the head. "Here, let me-"

Wanda sucked on her scorched hand. “These stupid candles burn too easily!”

Anya’s attempt to bypass the growing flame, which had stretched to include the three other flames, met with similar problems. “Aaaaah!”

Wanda fought not to laugh, “I told you!”

At Anya’s glare, she gave in, and let her out her laugh. The fourth candle went out like a shot. Wanda slapped a hand over her mouth.

"I didn’t mean to!" she squealed, but of course it came out, "Ahdideeetyu".

"That’s it," Anya huffed, successully placing the shamush back in its perch - after relighting the diminished candle, "You’ve ruined Hanukkah. No more candle lighting for you, you’re banned."

"Ah, no, I couldn’t find the right candles! Don’t ban meeeee," Wanda whined.

Anya laughed, then leaned over and kissed Wanda on the cheek. “You’re silly, and I love you. But you’re still banned.”


	6. 6th Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik doesn't really celebrate holidays anymore, not while he's hunting Schmidt. He's alone, anyway.

The TV buzzed with the shouting and screaming of the story. Erik took a long drag of his cigarette, then blew out the smoke through his nostrils, lips shut. He rubbed his eyes; a migraine was setting in. He’d spent the day on a project, piecing together the stashes of information he’d gathered from agents in the city. The problem was, the agents were either shit, or they’d had some problems he didn’t know about, because the dossier he’d been handed late in the afternoon was a total mess, complete with unidentified liquid splatters. Charming.

He hoped it was just lunch. The thought made his stomach clench.

He better get that check in out of the way…he picked up his hat and coat, and went out, pausing to twist the lock with his powers, and headed to a local hotel, where he charmed the desk assistant into letting him use the phone. Buenos Aires had nothing to report, except more distress with his progress, and a bit of concern, but pride spoke up and he lied, saying that he didn’t need assistance. It was true, as well. He appreciated the logistical support that Tel Aviv provided, but the meddling wasn’t helpful, and he knew they wouldn’t approve of him deviating from his assignments to work on his personal project, chasing Schmidt. Not a priority, they said, we need you on monitor work, no unsanctioned action. Your last kill made the papers.

Yes, but no fingerprints, he had thought, with a smile.

"Oh, and one last thing?"

"Hmm?" He was ready for this phone call to be over and to navigate his way around a bar fight, something to pick up the pace.

“Chag sameach,”

The Hebrew caught him off guard. “Oh,” It was the festival of lights, wasn’t it? He knew it, in the back of his mind, but with no one to celebrate with, he’d ignored it. “You…you too.”

There was something like a grunt from the other side of the line, and then they completed the usual code goodbyes, and he hung up.

He didn’t …he didn’t want to think about how lonely that made him feel. As if that was a new sensation, or if that made him special.

"Need something?" the receptionist leaned over the counter, her red blazer shining bronze in the counter’s surface. Her carmine smile reflected a cheeriness he didn’t feel. "I get off at 8, there’s a party that…"

He shouldn’t, he knew he shouldn’t, but…it was a holiday.


	7. 7th Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peaceful night in with the family (AU where everybody lives)

On the seventh night, everyone is home for once. Suzanne let Lorna come over, the twins are free from music and sports commitments, and Anya’s home from college. Magda got off of work early, and makes one last batch of sufganiyot to have for later, after the sabbath dinner. Erik lets his children set up the menorah, and Pietro leads the prayers and lights the candles. Wanda adds the kaddish, for those loved ones who could not be there that night.

It is, all said, a rather uneventful night.


	8. 8th Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ancient Cherik AU - the original miracle of light, in a world where Erik fights with the Maccabees, and Charles is a rich Greek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from the Maccabee verse I never finished but I promised to experimentalmadness where Charles is named Charon, and Erik is Erichtonious (“Erich” for short, just like in Yahtzee’s Pantheon - we both had the same idea on Hellenizing his name ;). Posted previously on my journal.

Charon’s friends had long joked about his name, bright eyes, the ferryman of death. Moira had made the pun when he’d tried to seduce her while wearing “enough kohl to kill a hippo,” as Raven had glibly put it, but he was still vain about his eyes. Girls and youths had called them Nile blue, and he carried that conceit with him into exile in Jerusalem. Erich had seemed to like Charon’s eyes well enough, among other parts. But that was years ago. Still, he wore the kohl, just in case he might see his friend again.

He did, later, but the kohl proved his enemy. Raven had just run in to tell him the news, that Judah the Hammer and his men - Erich among them - not only lived, they had taken the city. He wept, of course, he was always a soft heart, and he cursed his legs again that he could not run to the temple to find Erich and kiss him.

As it was, Erich came to him, and it was with kohl running down Charon’s face in streaks that Erich found him, and they kissed so many times that black was smeared over both their faces by the time they stopped crying and laughing. Of course, seeing the mess made them both laugh and cry even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charon means "fierce brightness" and was also the name of the Ferryman of death. The ferryman was reputed to have dazzling eyes (oh yes I used that word), as per Virgil, "eyes like jets of fire." And when I read that, considering McAvoy's unearthly blue eyes in XMFC that looked like they belonged to someone on a planet with spice worms, it made me laugh like a hyena. Unlike Charles, and the Charon of the fic, the ferryman was also said to be physically repulsive, so, take the nerd joke with a grain of salt.


End file.
